


Dependence Day

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: 21st Century, Celebrations, Domestic Fluff, Fourth of July, Gen, Independence Day - Freeform, Shippy Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 18:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4273905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The severe look that Ichabod gave her was somewhat lessened by the mustard on his mouth. Abbie laughed and reached for a napkin, all but flinging it at him. For being such a proper eater, he was a mess. She loved that about him; he never failed to surprise her and definitely never failed to make her laugh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Abbie and Ichabod celebrate the 4th of July, in the style of the 21st century.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dependence Day

**Author's Note:**

> Been a little busy, been a little lazy, but I wanted to write our favourite OTP for the 4th! (okay it's the 5th now shhh)
> 
> I do not own _Sleepy Hollow_. Thanks for reading, as usual!

"Oh! Hot dogs!"

Abbie rolled her eyes but smiled, prodding the hot dog over on the grill. "Yeah, and hamburgers, cheeseburgers. All American, Crane."

Ichabod gave her a dry look, one that he wore permanently when it involved discussion of namely any celebrated holiday, but the argument didn't come. They had discussed it already: ie, meaning that Abbie had shut him down and told him not to argue if he wanted lunch with her today.

Besides, Crane had a fondness for food on the grill. He preferred hot dogs over hamburgers, and liked ketchup and mustard but hated the taste of relish. He reminded Abbie of a child, honestly, but that was why she had smiled as well as rolled her eyes.

"So it appears." Ichabod hovered uselessly at her side for a moment before resolutely taking a seat on the picnic bench. "Surely there is something that I could assist with."

"Nope, don't trust you."

"Miss Mills," Ichabod retorted, not without sourness to his tone.

"Alright," Abbie relented, "I do trust you, but not with the grill. You'd burn off your eyebrows, Crane and, as funny as that would be," she transferred their food onto the plates, "I don't want to have to listen to you moaning about that, too."

"What have I been moaning about?" Ichabod was back on his feet, ready to take the plate from her.

Abbie raised her eyebrows, looking over her shoulder. "Really?"

"If you're talking about your holiday cuisine-"

Hook, line. Abbie laughed. "Come on, put those down over there. I've got lemonade and soda if you want it. Also picked up some complimentary donut holes," she said, pointing to the brown bag sitting aside. "But lunch first. You're not ready for a donut hamburger yet."

Ichabod blinked at her with the usual air of confusion, seating himself across from her at the table. "A donut hamburger?"

"Mm. Two donuts instead of buns-" Abbie stopped as Ichabod's head jerked up. "No, I'm not calling them anything else. That's what they are. But anyway, instead of bread, a donut on bottom, hamburger, cheese, whatever, and then a donut on top. Or maybe there's only one on the bottom... eh, I don't remember." She was focussed on putting her cheeseburger together. "But anyway, it's a hamburger and a donut altogether."

"That sounds... a strange combination." Ichabod was frowning as he reached for the hot dog buns.

Abbie handed them over. "It's good, I guess. I haven't actually had one, but they call them gourmet." She shrugged. "I'm happy with this." She took a bite of her cheeseburger.

"Indeed." Ichabod was less aggressive with his food than Abbie was; he took the time to expertly slip the dog into the bun, run a streak of ketchup on one side and mustard on the other. He watched too many fancy cooking shows. "Remind me again why Miss Jenny could not join us?"

"She's out with Hawley running down that one artifact." Abbie reached for the chips and came up short; Ichabod passed them over without encouragment. "Thanks, um, I think they're looking for these iron hooks blessed by holy water, for use on the fae? Although I still don't know why Jenny went with him."

Ichabod hummed, and finally took a bite of his hot dog. His response was delayed as such, but he returned with "It's a shame that she couldn't join up again this year".

Abbie nodded. "Yeah, but they'll be back soon. She texted me earlier, she's getting fast food with Nick in honour of the holiday."

"Oh. That's..."

"It's boring, yeah." Abbie grinned. "I told her as much. She told me to shut up and record the fireworks tonight."

"Oh, yes." Ichabod looked contemplative as he reached for a handful of chips. "The fireworks. At dusk, you said?"

"Yeah."

"Fantastic." He was inordinately fascinated with fireworks, too. Abbie couldn't blame him there. "Perhaps this year I'll be able to enjoy them more," Ichabod continued, thoughtfully wiping salt off his fingers.

Abbie licked the ketchup off her knuckles. "Uh huh, you know, you could just say you were scared last year."

He was fascinated with fireworks, but he'd been more than a little... out of sorts, experiencing them for the first time last year.

"I was not frightened," Ichabod said sternly. "I was merely surprised."

"Right."

The severe look that Ichabod gave her was somewhat lessened by the mustard on his mouth. Abbie laughed and reached for a napkin, all but flinging it at him. For being such a proper eater, he was a mess. She loved that about him; he never failed to surprise her and definitely never failed to make her laugh.

"Oh." Ichabod wiped his mouth, muttering something about ‘messy’.

"Wait until I barbeque for you, then you can say it's messy."

Ichabod tilted his head, managing to look in that moment like a half-confused, half-kicked puppy.

Abbie smiled knowingly and took another bite of her burger before swinging to her feet. She popped the lid on the cooler, rummaging through the ice. "Since you didn't spring for soda or lemonade..." She caught two long neck bottles between her fingers and shook the ice water off of them, handing one off to Ichabod.

"Oh. Now we're talking." Ichabod took it and twisted the cap off and then proceeded to surprise her by offering it out for a toast.

"Okay." Abbie swallowed, licking her lips. "What are we toasting?"

"... America's independence," Ichabod said, a little sourly. Apparently there was something there, about the Declaration not actually being _signed_ on the 4th of July, but Abbie had never asked for the full story and she wasn't going to right now.

"Great, to America's independence." She clinked her bottle against his.

"And to you," Ichabod added, "for contining to allow me to be so utterly _de_ pendent on you."

Abbie laughed, only just managing not to spit the beer back out from her drink. "Thanks, Crane," she said, "but it's really not necessary, you would have figured everything out sooner or later."

"I was unaware of the proper use of a hair dryer for the entire first week of my life in this century, lest we forget," Ichabod replied, and still managed to sound wounded of the fact whilst poking fun at himself.

Abbie shook her head. "Like I said, you would have figured it out. Once you learned it was called a _hair_ dryer."

Ichabod smiled fondly. "Perhaps. But I owe you unequivocally, Miss Mills."

Abbie stared at him stupidly for a moment. There wasn't enough beer in the world to drown her embarrassment when Ichabod started praising her. " _O_ kay, enough of singing my praises." She searched for something to distract them both and came up wanting. "Finish your hot dog and you can have a donut," she ordered instead.

It was enough to waylay him, however, and Ichabod dutifully tucked back into lunch with enthusiasm both in eating and conversation.

Abbie sighed to herself - not long-suffering in a bad way, but a happy one - and proceeded to end up in paroxyms of laughter when Ichabod dripped chip dip down the front of his shirt.

She still couldn't get used to sitting across from Mr Eighteenth Century himself, walking and talking history book, and she definitely could not picture herself anywhere but with him.

That ought to scare her, but it just made her oddly content instead.

 


End file.
